In Search of Family
by freewingnsketch
Summary: Takes place several weeks after "Aliyah." The team sets out to work on a case when Tony gets several strange texts sent to his cell phone that they soon discover are from a distressed Ziva. My first fanfiction, whole team featured. Spoilers for Aliyah.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or any of the NCIS characters.

One step at a time, Gibbs climbed the stairs to the Director's office. His head was filled with thoughts of Ziva and Tel Aviv. He knew in the back of his head that her motion to stay in Israel was her own choice, something she had decided to do because she felt it was best for her. She had always been a responsible agent, but Gibbs couldn't shake the steady feeling in his gut that her father had been a major influence in that decision. He walked into Director Vance's office leaving the door wide open. Vance straightened up from his paperwork.

"Went over the personnel files like you asked. There's a couple that stood out. Both would be a good fit," he said after tossing two thick manila file folders on the conference table.

Vance motioned to the files. "Take your pick."

Gibbs took in a deep breath. "I'll let you know in a few months," he sighed as he turned and started for the door.

"Yeah. I knew it couldn't be that easy. You think she might ask to come back?"

Gibbs paused at the door and turned, his hand still on the knob. "I'm just giving her time. That's all."

"Time to what?" Vance questioned.

"Remember," Gibbs paused, scenes of Ziva working in the field flashing through his mind. "Who she can trust."

"Let me make it easy for you, Gibbs. You made the right call."

_Well, gee, thanks._ "I wasn't asking for your opinion, Leon."

The Director stepped forward from the head of the table. "Just who the hell do you think you're talking to?" he demanded.

Gibbs forcefully shut the office door. "Good damn question." He made his way forward and squared up with Vance. "I've been wondering 'bout that for a while."

"You know you spend half your time second guessing me. Studying me. Testing me." Vance looked at Gibbs straight in the eye.

"I'm looking for answers," Gibbs countered. He raised an eyebrow.

"It would help if you'd ask the damn questions," Vance challenged.

Gibbs kept his mouth shut. He thought back to the sealed file Kort had handed him months ago. He remembered the extreme frustration and annoyance that accompanied his anger when he tried to rebuild his team. He thought back to Vance hiding everything during the Tyler case in Chicago. Which question to ask first? Vance smirked.

"There's the rub. You don't have a clue what to ask. You don't trust me but you don't know why."

"You wanna talk about trust?" Gibbs shot, "What about tearing apart my team last year? There was no warning. There was no discussion." Anger boiled in his stomach.

"Is that what this is about? You want to sit in the big chair."

It was a statement and he had said it with a raised voice.

_Not today_. "No I don't. I want to trust whoever does sit there," Gibbs indicated at the leather armchair behind Vance's gleaming mahogany desk. "I wanna protect my team."

"Like Ziva? Okay, fine. You made a decision to leave her in Tel Aviv, I supported you. And now you might want to let her back. Why?"

"Because whatever she might have done, I trust her... for what I know she did."

Gibbs thought of his own sniper rifle being aimed at his head. Ari slinking around his basement, chatting about being innocent – about not sending a round through Kate's forehead. Hearing the shot ring out. Seeing Ari's blood pooling on his basement floor. Feeling the sweat on Ziva's hand after he briskly pressed his fingers to her palm as a sign of comfort.

"Four years ago –"

"She saved your life," Vance interrupted. "By shooting and killing her half-brother Ari."

Gibbs stared at Vance. He'd never told a soul about that night. Neither had Ziva...

"I told you the chair was big. Ari was out of control, so Ziva's father sent her to eliminate him. She kills Ari, earns your trust. Two birds, one bullet. Eli played you."

Gibbs felt like he'd swallowed something too large for his throat.

"Regardless Gibbs," Vance continued, "up until now Ziva's always been loyal to this agency. Now, I know you don't want to hear this, Gibbs, but now you have to trust me. And if you're right about Ziva's allegiance to you, she'll serve us well at Mossad."

"Yeah?" Gibbs countered, "And if you're right about her father..."

Gibbs deeply prayed that Ziva could overpower those who had trained her. He shook his head.

"...we'll never see her again."

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

He leaned on the railing of the balcony and looked down upon the bustling squad room. Gibbs saw McGee at his desk, leaning his head on his hand and staring at his computer screen. As he made his way down the stairs, he checked Tony's desk and took in the pathetic form of his slumped shoulders, left arm in its sling. His free hand was flipping open his cellphone. Gibbs approached Tony's desk and saw his thumb hovering over the call button. Ziva's cell number lit up the screen.

Gibbs surveyed Tony's face. He noticed the same fusion of worry, anger, confusion, and despair hidden in his eyes that he, himself, had felt upon returning to NCIS. They both understood the emptiness of a missing piece.

"Guess she'll call when she's ready," Tony said.

McGee looked at Gibbs expectantly. Gibbs opened his mouth to state a fact that might comfort them both, but nothing came. He bit the inside of his cheek and walked over to sit down at his desk, all the while, feeling McGee's eyes on his back. When he looked up, the agent had placed his head in his hand and went back to staring at his computer screen.

He took a glance at Ziva's desk, empty now except for the office phone, computer, and lamp. He didn't want to have to start all over again, rebuilding the team to try to cover her absence. He didn't want to deal with the various moods he could see his team experiencing for the next month. He couldn't let this issue disappear.

Tony flipped his cellphone shut with a clap of finality.

He knew he was going to get to the bottom of this one way or another.

His gut told him so.

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Somalia, Horn of Africa

A tan, muscular man made his way down a dusty corridor toward a soldier keeping watch over a large, wooden door. His heavy boots were muffled by loose sand on the floor. Metal jingled from the small ammo pouch hooked onto his belt. He placed a half-smoked cigarette between his lips, extracted a lighter from his pocket, and lit the guard's cigarette. Smoke wafted around their heads. The man forcefully slid a rusted bolt out of place to creak open the heavy wooden door it belonged to.

The room was lit solely by outside sunlight filtering in through two half-arched windows. Dust floated everywhere. A single straight-back chair held a bent and broken-looking prisoner, bound by the wrists and ankles.

The man walked into the room and stood a foot away from the bound captive. He dropped his cigarette butt to the ground close to a growing pile, and stubbed it out with the toe of his boot. A coil of smoke quickly stemmed toward the ceiling.

Looking down at the captive tied helplessly to the chair, he apprehended an overwhelming weakened state. The officer reached forward and grasped a small charm dangling from the prisoner's neck, which he then clenched in his fist and pulled free. On his fingers rested a small Star of David, its chain glinting in the sunlight.

The man grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked back the prisoner's head. A gasp echoed in the stone room. He looked at the dirty skin, the beading sweat, the split lip, the bruised, bleeding eye.

"Tell me everything you know about NCIS."

And with that, Ziva clenched her jaw, mentally preparing for the excruciating pain that was to come.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or any of the NCIS characters.

Three weeks later.

Tony's entrance was accompanied by a ding from the elevator. He lithely slid into the bullpen, eccentrically dancing to music playing only in his head. A few shuffles, two twists, and one very bad moonwalk attempt later, Tony arrived at his desk, dumped his bag in his chair, and bounded over to Tim's station, smiling wildly.

"McGoo!" he exclaimed, drumming his fingers on the front of Tim's desk..

Without a single hesitation to his rapid typing, McGee briefly glanced up at his co-worker out of the corner of his eye before returning to his computer screen.

"Someone's happy," he observed. Tony then made giant elaborate motions with his arms, pointing this way and that, circling them above his head, and finally ending in a body builder pose.

"Ah! No sling."

"That's right Probie. Free as a bird and on my way to feelin' fine."

"Glad you're happy. Just don't flap too hard," McGee said, watching Tony impersonate something that looked like a very large bird.

Tony began booting up his computer. "Boss can't confine me to desk work anymore. Got the doctor's release note and everything," he said with a large grin.

"Yeah, well last time you came back from medical leave you practically landed yourself back in the ER. Just don't do anything stupid now that you're able to twist and shout again."

"McGee!" Tony gasped sarcastically. "Do I sense a pinch of overprotective love for your favorite senior field agent?"

"No. It's just a lot better riding with someone else in the car besides Gibbs. I'm urging you to not hurt yourself again so Boss can take out his frustration on someone else while on the way to and from crime scenes."

Tony leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the corner of his desk.

"Ah. Good point. Well, if we go anywhere today I call shotgun."

"That's not fair. You can't call shotgun until you're outside, Tony."

"Didn't you just say that you had enough riding in the car with Gibbs? Besides, now that I am back in the swing of things, my seniority rules. Shotgun!" He fist-pumped the air victoriously.

At that moment, Gibbs rounded the corner.

"I'll take a shotgun to the both of you if you don't get to work," he threatened. Grinning to himself, he made his way through the bullpen and heard Tony's quick and slightly abashed "Good morning, Boss."

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Gibbs entered the elevator after his routine morning visit to Abby's lab. She had accepted her Caf-Pow! with the usual enthusiasm, something that always improved his mood. He was turning over her most recent tale about Sister Rosita in his head when a vibration from his belt caught his attention. He slipped the cell phone from its holder and flipped it open.  
"Yeah. Gibbs."

"Hey Gibbs, it's Tom. We just got a call about the body of a dead petty officer found at the bottom of an embankment about fifty yards from the crossing of Steeplechase and Lonestone."

"Who made the call."

"Two cyclists, sir. Not more than five minutes ago."

"Alright. Make sure they stay there. Thanks, Tom."

Gibbs downed the rest of his coffee and stepped into the squad room.

"Grab your gear."

"We got a body?" Tony asked, already slinging on his bag.

"We've got a body, DiNozzo."

"Where at, Boss?"

"South Kensington."

"Alright!" Tony cried out in the same tone that an enthusiastic fan might cheer for his favorite football team. He was met a curious stare from McGee and a "don't-mess-with-me-this-early" glare from Gibbs.

"Sorry, Boss. I'm just super excited to be back in the field again" Tony quickly explained.

"Yeah. I can see that, Tony."

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The jade green Charger squealed to a halt after skidding around a particularly tight corner. Gibbs briskly got out of the car and surveyed the boundaries set by the yellow crime scene tape. Tony followed his boss out of the car, a smile still plastered on his face.

"Gee, Boss. I think you beat your old record. That only took us eleven minutes with two red lights. Very nice."

"Don't forget the U-turn," McGee said as he hobbled out of the car, his face paling to a faint shade of green.

Tony looked at McGee and grimaced at his partner's state. "Yeah, since when did they start construction on Route 189."

"Since this morning," replied McGee, still slightly bent over.

"Well, regardless," Tony said, "impeccable timing."

They followed a path through dense areas of mossy trees before crossing under the yellow tape that squared off a portion of the forest trail. McGee set down several tack boxes that held their equipment and pulled a camera from his bag. Tony just stared at a body slumped over half of the trail. Gibbs squatted next to the victim's head and examined a series of puncture wounds covering his face.

"Yikes. How many times can you really impale someone before they die?"

"Well Anthony," said Ducky, who just came down the path and set his kit next to the body, "depending on the size of the object, the depth of the stab, and the area of the body, a human can be stabbed hundreds of times before a fatality occurs." He pulled out a liver probe and jabbed it into the man's abdomen. "I examined a body over a decade ago that had more than 180 puncture marks all over his body. The poor fellow had become a canvas to someone who thought it would be tasteful to write messages with poultry thermometer. I could not imagine the level of pain when the killer poked a series of obscenities from his navel down to his groin. I always thought –"

"Ducky! Is there anything that you can tell us about this particular victim?" Gibbs asked, looking expectantly at the medical examiner.

"Well," Ducky continued, looking at the temperature on the thermometer, "his liver tells us that he died approximately sixteen, seventeen hours ago. Looking at the puncture marks all over his body, the cause of death is most likely these stab wounds which were were definitely created by something that had a serrated edge, as one side of wounds has much more ripped tissue. You might also say that for several of these wounds the killer rotated the object once it was inserted." He had emphasized this last part by twisting his wrist violently.

"Alright, thanks Duck. McGee, shoot and sketch. DiNozzo look for the murder weapon." He glanced over the body one more time and went to the two cyclists standing just outside the boundary line.

"On it, Boss."

McGee stretched on a pair of rubber gloves and checked the victim's pockets only to dig out some gum and a few five dollar bills. Sliding a finger under the man's collar, he pulled out a silver chain. "Dog tags say this is Petty Officer Thomas Creeder. Other than that, there's no wallet or cellphone."

"Killer must not have known he was going after a marine if he didn't take the dog tags," Tony said in a raised voice from where he was circling a small group of bushes, checking the ground for any evidence.

McGee took in the position of the man's body and the state of his uniform. "It looks more like something that happened spontaneously. Very messy; no rhyme or reason."

"Yeah, well, he should have been less spontaneous and chosen somewhere with less mud," said Tony, looking at his mud-covered shoes with distasted.

McGee stood and walked over to where Tony was standing. "Maybe this time we'll close pretty quickly."

Tony sent McGee a doubtful look then returned to examining the ground. "That's how it always seems in the beginning, McProbius. Then just when you least expect it, they throw you a curve ball."

McGee just rolled his eyes. "Most curve balls are supposed to be unexpected."

"'Most' is the key word there. Our cases rarely fall into the most category."

"What?"

"C'mon, McGee. Work with me here." At that point, Tony's cell phone rang to the tune of the 20th Century-Fox fanfare. He unclipped it from his belt and flipped it open. "Oh. That's strange."

"What?" McGee asked.

"Someone just sent me a text," Tony said distractedly.

"There's something wrong with a text?"

"Well, for one, the message just said "Casino Royal." Good movie, but far from the best Bond. Sean Connery will forever be the best 007 agent this world has ever seen. Daniel Craig has far too much to learn from Sir Connery. Plus, I can do a better impression of him. Although, I do give credit to Craig's Bond who endured possibly one of the worst torture methods known to mankind."

"So? Someone doesn't like your taste in films," McGee said, annoyed at Tony's distraction.

"Yeah, well, I'd like to know who. My phone doesn't recognize the number and neither do I."

"Probably just one of those ladies you brag about every morning."

"I don't know if I've ever watched that movie with any of them. It's not really the kind of film I treat the ladies to before we, uh, get to know each other," Tony said, flashing a huge smile.

"You've still been getting action even with the sling?" McGee questioned.

"Ah," Tony sighed. "They take on a pity approach; feel sorry for me. Makes them open up a little sooner. Hmm... should try that again some time." Finally snapping his phone shut, Tony walked around. He squatted beside a glinting piece of metal on the ground. He scooped it up in his hand and dangled it in front of McGee's face. "McGee, get a shot of this."

Just then, Gibbs returned from interviewing the cyclists. "Got anything?"

"No murder weapon yet. Just this chain, Boss. Looks like a medical bracelet. Belonged to the Petty Officer, here."

"Alright. Bag 'n tag it," he said. He continued to circle the Petty Officer's body, glancing from the embankment back to the victim with a troubled look on his face.

"Got something, Boss?"

"Do you see any footprints, McGee?"

"Huh. None other than ours. You think he rolled down the embankment?"

"Only one way to find out for sure." Gibbs began to climb the steep slope that lead to the highway. McGee and Tony followed, brandishing branches and bushes that got in their way. They finally felt hard ground underneath their feet when Gibbs pointed to a stain of blood seeping its way from the road to the earth. "Get a sample of that for Abby."

"Uh, Boss?" Tony shouted. He had walked in the opposite direction of McGee and Gibbs and was now staring down at the road.

"Yeah, DiNozzo?"

"If that blood belongs to our Petty Officer, whose is this?" Tony said, pointing to another large pool of red on the pavement.

TBC

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Thank you very much for reading. This is my first fanfiction and because of that, I'm sure this story contains more than a few flaws. Please review, as constructive criticism is always welcome!


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